Fragments
by CountryGirl914
Summary: They all fell apart differently. Post Twilight.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, never will.

**A/N:** Better late than never, right? Started this pretty soon after the finale, but only finished it now. Sounded better in my head, but they always do, don't they? All mistakes are my own—I have no beta.

**Reviews:** Are the only way I know how I'm doing. And besides, they give me warm fuzzies. They're always welcome.

And now, on with the story!

* * *

She should have figured it out sooner.

Any other day would find Abby in her lab, running tests, typing on her computer, or sucking down a Big Gulp—or all three at once. But today she had no work to do, no tests to run, and she couldn't even talk to Ducky—he had rushed out earlier without even stopping to mention where he was going. There had been no word yet from Gibbs or any of the others, and she was getting slightly worried, knowing who they were going up against. So it came to be that Abby was upstairs, bored and anxious, sitting on Gibbs' desk, when the agents returned. They'd had no time to prepare their expressions, so Abby should have known instantly. But she was off the desk and saying, "Hey, guys. How'd everyth—" before her brain processed the visuals in front of her. The blank, haunted looks on the faces of Gibbs, Tony, and McGee. The blood splatter on Gibbs and Tony; Abby's overactive mind could instantly imagine the type of wound that would put it there. And, made even more horrifying by the first two visuals, the conspicuous lack of Kate. She almost staggered back from the enormity of it all, and her voice trembled as she spoke. "Guys…wh-where's Kate?"

It was the mention of her name that set Tony off. He turned and slammed his fist into a filing cabinet, denting the metal, and then Abby saw no more because she was crying, crumbling, completely unlike her, and McGee was stepping toward her and enveloping her in his embrace, sinking with her to the floor. While she sobbed into McGee's shirt, her mind was racing, frantically searching for her last encounter with Kate, hoping that it hadn't been marred by any petty arguments. She seized on it—they had discussed her dream and worries about Tony. And though her mind was soaked with grief, one thought resonated.

She'd been right to worry. She'd just been worried about the wrong person.

* * *

Ducky was used to getting calls in the morgue. He was just used to Gibbs being the caller—not McGee.

"What's wrong? Did something happen to Gibbs?" Ducky knew of the danger the man was in, even if Gibbs didn't want to admit it.

"No, Gibbs is fine…But, it's…Oh, God." There was a pause as McGee struggled to speak, sighing painfully. "Ducky, it's Kate. Ari killed her." The coroner stumbled into a nearby chair as the agent continued talking. "Ducky, I, I don't know the protocol on something like this. Can you still do this? Is there someone I need to call?"

Ducky finally remembered how to speak. "No! No. I'll be there."

And so he left, rushing past Abby when she cheerily greeted him in the hallway, because he just didn't want to be the one to tell her, to be the first thing she thought of when remembering this painful day. Even more, however, was the fact that if he said it out loud, he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold it together any longer.

He worked automatically, without thinking, and before Ducky knew it he was back in the morgue, Kate's body laid out on the cold metal slab in front of him. At least she hadn't suffered. Cause of death was painfully obvious, and Ducky was guiltily grateful that an autopsy wasn't necessary. There was no way he'd allow anyone else to do it, even a trusted colleague. Yet the very thought of touching a blade to her skin nearly made him lose the stomach contents he'd barely been keeping down all day. The morgue, normally filled with the sound of his voice, was eerily silent. He just couldn't start his usual running monologue—not with Kate. Not with his friend.

Ducky bowed his head, tears silently trailing down his face. He knew that Tony and Gibbs—and maybe even McGee, if he'd judged the look on the younger man's face correctly—wouldn't rest until they brought Ari in. He just hoped they didn't kill him.

In all his years as a coroner, he'd learned a lot of ways to torture a person. He wanted to try some of them out first.

* * *

Some people said that, after a major event in one's life, everything was separated into two categories—before the event, and after. McGee had never believed it until now.

He believed it, because now he had his two—before Kate died, and after. Actually, he could narrow it down even further, to the very moment he saw Kate's body.

When the gunfire finally stopped, McGee carefully made his way to the roof, nosing the door open with his gun and peering around the frame. Tony and Gibbs were slumped against the wall a few feet to his right.

"Clear?" Neither of the men responded, or even looked at him. "Guys, is it clear?" Finally, Gibbs slowly turned to face him, although he wasn't sure if his boss recognized him. Tony didn't move. "Yeah, it's clear."

Needing to make sure for himself—Gibbs didn't seem to be in the best frame of mind, and both had blood on them—McGee cautiously walked past the two agents. As he started to turn the corner, the realization that Kate hadn't been with the others hit him. But by then it was too late, because his momentum took him those final, fateful steps, and then he saw her, lying on the tar of the roof with her life drained out of her in a pool of red.

The seconds ticked by as McGee stood there, frozen. Then his stomach lurched and he turned, stumbling as far away as he could—he couldn't contaminate the scene—dropping down to his knees and throwing up, retching until his body shook with dry heaves. Two categories. Before and after. All the naiveté he had left blown away in one visceral moment.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slowly stood up to face his colleagues. He could do this. He had to. "Have you called Ducky yet, sir?"

His boss looked at him as if he was speaking gibberish, so McGee called the coroner himself. It was then that Gibbs snapped out of his trance and took charge, calling in more officers. He looked at McGee as if seeing a different person, newfound respect in his eyes, but McGee didn't want it. It would be forever tainted, coming from Kate's death.

Abby was waiting for them when they got back, and it proved just how incomprehensible the facts were—Kate dead?—when the brilliant scientist didn't immediately realize what had happened. But it didn't take her long, and when Abby uttered Kate's name, Tony—who had been in a haze since McGee found them on the roof—finally snapped, spinning and attacking a nearby filing cabinet. But he didn't pay attention to Tony for long, because Abby was swaying, crying, a hand covering her mouth, horrified. McGee quickly walked over and wrapped his arms around her, protecting her as she crumbled to the floor. He did it to comfort Abby, of course, but he was also doing it to comfort himself. He may not have known Kate as long as the others, but she had still been his friend, and he could feel the tears silently making their way down his cheeks. He knew Gibbs and Tony were going to hunt Ari down, and as he stroked Abby's hair and listened to her sob, McGee realized that he wanted to join them. For the first time in his life, he wanted to kill another human being.

No, things would never be the same again.

* * *

Gibbs had had so many firsts today that he wondered if it was time for him to leave NCIS.

He'd seen people die before, in all his years of service—including friends and people under his command. But never before had he felt the kind of pain and horror that strangled him as he watched Kate's lifeless body fall to the ground. For the first time in his life, Gibbs froze. All he could do was stand there, wide-eyed, as the pool of blood under her head grew larger, It wasn't until Tony gave a strangled "Kate?" and began to crouch down and reach out to her that Gibbs realized that Ari could be preparing to shoot again. That thought spurred him into action; he grabbed Tony and practically dragged him behind the far wall of the staircase. No more gunfire came, and Gibbs slipped back into the numbing haze. Letting McGee know it was clear, watching the younger man retch—it was all coming from miles away. He was detached from the world, and only when McGee called Ducky instead of him—another first—did Gibbs snap back into reality.

Later, at the office, Gibbs watched as McGee comforted Abby and Tony destroyed a filing cabinet, pounding it until it almost folded in on itself. Tony started to raise his hand to wipe at his face, but stopped abruptly when he saw the blood on his face and clothes.

Not streams of blood, as if his knuckles had taken one too many hits on the metal cabinet. It was a constant pattern of fine droplets—cast-off from a gunshot wound.

Tony stared at Gibbs in horror, and the older man's stomach lurched as he realized it was Kate's blood, and it lurched again when he realized that it must be on him as well. So when Tony ran for the restroom Gibbs followed, and by the time he got there Dinozzo was already at a sink, frantically scrubbing his hands and face. When the water finally ran clear he turned and darted into a stall. Gibbs could hear him retching, but he blocked it out, methodically scrubbing his skin and watching the pale red water swirl down the drain.

Gibbs hadn't planned on even sleeping until Ari was captured, but when he ordered Tony to go home the man just glared and snapped that he would go home when Gibbs did. The expression on McGee's face said pretty much the same thing, so—for another first—Gibbs wearily acquiesced and went home, to his basement and his boat. He was there now, mindlessly sanding the wood frame and trying to keep the day's events from playing out over and over again in his mind. But he couldn't stop them, and he swore when he felt the pressure building behind his eyes. Gibbs didn't cry, and he wasn't willing to have any more firsts on this horrible day. So he increased his pace, sanding frantically until his muscles burned and the sandpaper under his fingers was hot to the touch.

Until he could pretend the water running down his face was sweat and not tears.

* * *

Tony sat in his darkened living room, glass of scotch in hand, half-empty bottle on the end table beside him. The brain could be very cruel. He could remember most of the day only in vague, fuzzy snippets. Waking up at the office. Confronting Ari's goons. Kate throwing herself in front of Gibbs. McGee on the roof. Attacking a filing cabinet at the office. Kate's blood on his hands. Scrubbing his hands and face, then throwing himself into a stall and retching until he had nothing left inside. Snapping at Gibbs when he ordered him home, and noticing a look of pain and sadness he'd never seen on his boss's face in all the years they'd worked together. Getting home and instantly tearing off his favorite suit, stuffing it into the nearest trash can he could find—he could never wear it again, even if the dry cleaners could somehow get the blood out. Stepping into a scalding shower and scrubbing his already clean skin until it was red and raw, trying to get rid of the blood that would never wash away. Leaning his head against the tile and letting the tears come, sliding down until he was sobbing in a heap on the shower floor, salty tears and hot water mixing together, staying there until the water ran cold.

But the one moment he wanted to forget the most was the one his brain was reminding him of over and over in stunning clarity. Kate's words being cut short by the bullet tearing through her body. The unnatural way her body jerked forward and fell to the roof. The angry bullet hole between her eyes, eyes that were already clouding over in death. The red pool underneath her head growing larger as the blood drained out of her. And, God, he couldn't stop the feelings from washing over him constantly. Horror, pain, guilt, and grief unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Kate was gone, and she was never coming back. Never again would she laugh at his immaturity, glare at him over a smartass remark, roll her eyes when he bullied McGee. No more of her laughter, her smiles, her teasing. Did she know that under all the teasing and chauvinistic crap there had been real respect, real friendship? Kate gave as good as she got, and she always had his back, no matter what. She had impressed him from the moment he first saw her. There'd even been times, when they would look at each other for a little longer than necessary, that Tony would feel his skin tingle and wonder if his feelings for Kate ran deeper than he would like to admit. And he would see the look in her eyes and wonder if maybe she felt it too, and if they could get past his façade and Gibbs' rules, what could happen? What if? What if was all he had now. Any chance he had had been taken away by a terrorist's bullet.

Tony lifted the glass of amber liquid to his lips once more. After he'd picked himself up out of the shower and put on a pair of sweats, the first thing he could find, he'd gone straight to the kitchen and found his unopened bottle of scotch, downing half of it almost instantly and wincing as the alcohol burned down his throat. Beer was more his style, but it wouldn't fulfill the need he had tonight. He needed alcohol, enough of the mind-numbing elixir to wear away at his memory of Kate's death, rounding off the corners and softening the edges until it was as fuzzy and vague as the rest of the day, until the pain he was feeling would fade into a distant ache.

His glass was empty, so Tony grabbed the bottle and clumsily refilled it, mesmerized by the swirling scotch. He looked out the window and up to the stars that were visible in the darkness. Was that where Kate was now? No matter. He would remember tomorrow, and grieve.

Tonight he just wanted to forget.


End file.
